


Inferno World Tour

by onotherflights



Series: Almaty's Fire [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onotherflights/pseuds/onotherflights
Summary: He wondered what went through their heads when they heard the songs. Did they know how it felt to love someone unconditionally? To sacrifice, to hurt, to need? Did they know what it meant to rebuild something that had been broken?Of course they did, otherwise they wouldn’t sing along.+ The last part of the Almaty’s Fire series, in which the band embarks on the Inferno World Tour.





	Inferno World Tour

**Author's Note:**

> You didn’t think I would finish this without saying a proper goodbye, right? 
> 
> I wanted to leave Almaty’s Fire at a place where it could be read and finished, and that is what I did. But for those who, like me, really fell in love with the story and the characters, I wanted to give them a proper ending. This work wraps up everything I needed it to, and I adore it so much. Of course, there is always more (and if you have any questions, please DM on tumblr! Indulge me and i will talk about it for hours lol). I wish I could write in this verse forever, but I think it’s a little bit past the point of being a fanfic and is going towards an original work. So, who knows? 
> 
> I think this fic will always mean the most to me, it’s my baby. I know a lot of you feel similarly, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that. 
> 
> I wanted to put this out on July 7th, because if you’re an af stan like me you might have pieced together that is the anniversary of the night they met. I’m a sap we know this. 
> 
> I want to say a huge Thank you, to everyone who has been there from the start. Thank you to everyone who binge read it all at once and lost sleep. Thank you to everyone who’s ever sent me a message about it and made that day a little bit easier. Thank you to everyone who created something from my silly little story. And thank you to everyone who heard the songs, and understood. 
> 
> Xx, Marie

**_Two years later. . ._ **

[ The following is a transcript of the Rolling Stone Exclusive docu-series titled Almaty’s Fire: The Inferno World Tour. All music rights reserved by Altin Records, copyright 2018] 

[ Blank screen, title fade in: “Almaty’s Fire: The Inferno World Tour”. Seven seconds, title fade out. Blank Screen] 

[Otabek Altin, Voice Over (VO)]  _ Our story was supposed to be over before it started. _

[ Clip of stage performance: Copenhagen (19). Clip of band accepting various awards. Clip of  _ Rolling Stones _ anniversary party performance] 

[Otabek Altin, VO]  _ By all accounts, we should have just been another band that didn’t make it. I don’t know if we can really say that we did or not, but I think we’re really lucky to even be where we are now. _

[ Serik Altin, VO ]  _ I didn’t want to be in a band, I just wanted to be with my brother. And then I started drumming and it was like, hey, I’m not that bad at this. It was an escape for me, from a lot of the things that were going on around me at the time. _

[ Jarrod Palmero, Interview ]  _ When I first met up with Otabek, I didn’t think we were ever going to take music seriously. We were kids, man, and we were crazy back in the day. We both came from situations where we were the only ones who didn’t give a shit about what happened to us. You put an eighteen year old kid on his own for the first time with enough money and enough temptation, and things just happen. You make things happen, and that’s how they get you hooked.  _

[ Otabek Altin, Interview ]  _ It hasn’t been perfect. There’s no one-fix-all for drug addiction, and that mindset is the problem to begin with. There’s been bad nights, there’s been slip-ups. But at the end of it all, the music is always going to matter more. _

[ VO of Sara Crispino, onstage with Otabek Altin]  _ You just get this incredible group  _ _ of people who love creating this energy together, of course it’s going to be electric.  _

[ interviewer ] Alright, fun question. Excuse my wording but, how do you keep the spark alive? 

[ Yuri Plisetsky, Interview ] (laughs)  _ We are in a new city every night, we’ve gotten to see the world together. We’ve made a life together. And well, everything else. . . everything else is in the songs, you can piece it together however you want to.  _

[ Otabek Altin, Interview]  _ Saying that we are a family show is a bit of a joke, but there’s truth in it. This band is a family, and I think people can relate to that. Or they want to, because everyone needs a bit of family that they choose.  _

[Yuri Plisetsky, Interview]  _ Would I change anything? (looks at Otabek Altin, then back to interviewer) No. I wouldn’t change anything. If we didn’t go through all that shit before we got this big, we wouldn’t have the passion we do. We would have burnt out by now.  (looks at Camera) Does it look like we’re burning out any time soon?  _

  
  


__________________________________

  
  


They were in a hotel room in Austin, watching themselves on TV. 

“This is so weird,” Yuri said as he pushed his hair up into two equal buns. 

Otabek was getting dressed, poking his head out from the bathroom every time he heard Yuri’s voice onscreen and then fading back into the room whenever he heard his own. He was like a self-conscious jack in the box. Yuri was on the bed in his boxers, not bothering to get dressed before noon. They’d just been cuddling and waking up with the television turned on in the background but low. Otabek’s warm skin was all over him and he’d just gotten his first kiss when they heard their own voices. Immediately, they parted and looked up. 

The documentary had been going for over thirty minutes. It had been weird the whole time. 

They remembered filming for it, of course, but they hadn’t known when it was coming out. Apparently it already had, because it was re-running just after the morning music videos. Yuri hadn't thought Americans still ran music videos on TV, but apparently there was still something good about the country. 

Across the room, there was a knock on their door. Yuri bounced out of bed to get it, watching Otabek concentrating on his eyeliner. A subtle wing was hard to achieve, and Yuri respected that. 

“Hey, get in here, you’ve gotta see this,” Yuri said as he accepted greetings of good morning and bags of food. 

Mila and Sara were first, Holly coming in behind them, talking on her phone but kissing his cheek all the same. Jarrod followed, with Serik on his back looking sleepy. Just as Yuri was about to sit down a few minutes later, there was another softer knock. 

“Hi,” Drew said when he opened the door. Even after all this time, she was still shy around them. Yuri thought it was adorable. She was still in her pajamas, one of Serik’s sweaters slipping off one shoulder. He pulled her in with a smirk, and she joined the noise. They were all eating and talking, it was a wonder they managed to hear the TV over themselves. Drew quickly walked over to where Serik was sitting, taking her place gently on his lap. 

“Hey babe,” he greeted, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her cheek, “you could have slept in.” 

“But food though,” she laughed quietly, stealing a few fries from his plate. He beamed at her. 

Yuri watched them from a moment, all of them. His family, most of them anyway. The number had been growing lately.

“You look tired, Jare bear,” Yuri teased as he hopped back onto the bed, his twin buns bouncing on his head. 

“Baby kept me up all night,” he grumbled, holding a mug of coffee like it was an IV drip. “She takes after her mother.” 

Holly sighed as she flopped down next to them, “Just wait until you get to potty training.” 

Jarrod glared at her, “You and Erz have a  _ puppy _ , not a  _ baby _ .” 

She glared back, but smirked all the same, “You can come talk to me when your baby eats your Balenciaga shoes.” 

Yuri turned his attention back to the TV, watching himself performing on screen, then a cut to a more private moment with Otabek in the dressing room before a show. Well, he’d thought it was private at the time. It was hard once you got used to cameras being around so much, from tour diaries to music videos to photoshoots. Sometimes it felt like they were being watched, even in the dark. Of course, that only inspired Yuri to always put on a good show. 

The documentary cameras had probably been on a safari-inspired journey to catch Otabek in his natural habitat, maybe even smiling. Yuri was sitting with him on the floor, and they were working on some song, Otabek playing on his acoustic and Yuri saying something about chords, and showing him what he meant by physically placing Otabek’s fingers on the frets the way he wanted them because he didn’t know the right letters, but he recognized how they would sound by sight. He was good with Otabek’s hands. 

Whatever he was saying was muted by an invisible Otabek’s voice over, but Yuri knew they had been laughing about it.

_ I don’t know if I could have made it this far without him. He’s my best friend, my life line.  _

There it was then, that beautiful, rare smile. In real life, Yuri smiled back just as he did on the screen. 

“Aww, look at you two,” Sara sighed dramatically as she leaned back against Mila’s chest, lamenting, “they always say the first year of marriage is the hardest, but you guys were so in love then, and you still are!” 

Yuri didn’t let his smile drop, but he tensed slightly, and exchanged a quick look with Jarrod. Holly didn’t seem to notice, and Serik had been protected from it, for once. 

The truth was, though the band was family, not all of them needed to know everything. Serik had been through more than enough, it wasn’t fair to push any more emotional baggage onto him. And Holly, as good as her intentions and tough love could be, was a direct line to Erzhan. 

Jarrod, however, had stepped up in a way Yuri had never expected. Maybe it was because he already had impending fatherhood on his plate, and Otabek was practice. A drug addict and a baby weren’t theoretically so different. 

He didn’t want everyone to know about the bad nights, when either he or Jarrod would stay up all night with Otabek because he was restless and nothing was working. He didn’t want people to know that sometimes Otabek just shut down for no outside reason, and he would be done for the day. He didn’t want people to know that it wasn’t an easy first year when his husband had a dip and almost relapsed, or when it happened again and he really did, or the weeks of self-loathing that came after it. He didn’t want to tell anyone that being married was really fucking hard in general, not to mention their fragile career, and the monster breathing down Otabek’s neck on top of it. 

He would rather Sara see that version of them on screen, when they were at their best and making something beautiful, than to know the number of nights that Yuri had held Otabek when he cried out of sheer frustration until he fell asleep. It was strange to think that both versions were completely true, and Yuri had never loved Otabek any less on any night, not even the worst of them. 

He felt the cool metal backing of the necklace that hung faithfully around his neck, thumbing over the number that matched the one inked on his left ring finger. He had made a promise, and as long as Otabek was in, so was he. 

Once the documentary shifted its focus to other members of the band (including a drunken rendition of “99 problems” courtesy of Mila), Otabek emerged. 

“You wanna grab some tacos before the shoot?” 

Yuri nodded and hopped up to get dressed. He had gotten a pair of beat up black cowboy boots at a thrift shop and had just been waiting for a chance to wear them. He wouldn’t be caught dead in them anywhere else. 

  
  
  
  


They were in Texas for a music video shoot, though Yuri had no clue why. Apparently the director behind the video was a classically trained dancer and had retired in the heart of the state, for some reason. Apparently the art scene was big there, but Yuri had been a little bit desensitized. They lived in California, after all. The shoot would start that night and go into the early morning, because they wanted to film the sunrise. That was just the part with the two of them in it. The rest of the band were filming in a cave, because they were too cool for closeups. 

Yuri walked hand in hand with Otabek as they made their way to find overpriced tacos and maybe pop in to a boutique or five. They hadn’t been shopping in a long while. 

Almost all of the time, things were easy. 

Of course, it was with full stomachs and shopping bags in hand that they found their way past the bars of 6th street onto 7th street, and the front steps of the Front Steps building. 

Austin had a homeless problem, that wasn’t any secret. The problem wasn’t the people who happened to be without a place to put their shit, but the people on the street who had more than enough to give and just walked by like they had blinders on. As if the people sitting on the street were somehow sub-human. 

Otabek stopped, and Yuri was looking down at his phone so for a minute he just stood there, figuring they were at a crosswalk or something. 

“We should talk to her,” Otabek said, and Yuri looked up. Across the way, there was a young woman who looked to be in her late twenties. She was sitting against the wall and had a sign that read:  _ need $$ for a new start, not drugs.  _

Otabek pulled his hand. Yuri eyed him, puzzled, but followed where he led. 

Her name was Natalie. She had been clean for eight weeks and three days. She smiled the moment they sat down with her. Otabek wanted to know her story. She talked about her family and the small town she grew up in. She talked about the first time she lit up at a college party, about how it was love at first hit. She talked about the chase to feel that way again, and Otabek nodded. Yuri thought that maybe they were the first two people who had listened to her story without any other motive. Well, he didn’t have one. Otabek was another story, and Yuri didn't know it at the time, but he would see Natalie working with the rest of their stage crew in a few months' time, and her smile would be even brighter.

Almost ruining his life a few times had taught Otabek how easy it was to extend a hand to someone else, and Yuri loved him for it. 

 

They drove out to the shoot, showing up fifteen minutes late and with coffee. A slim, tight-laced woman greeted them as an assistant walked them into the building. 

“Lilia Baranovskaya,” she said curtly, arms crossed over her chest. No handshake or hug, just a piercing assessment with her eyes as she scanned their bodies head to toe. “Chloe will bring you your underwear. Take that ratty clothes off.” 

She turned on her heels and walked away from them, back towards the set. Otabek looked at Yuri with a signature look on his face. 

“It’s been a long time since a woman has told me to take my clothes off.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes, handing over his coffee and pulling his blue babydoll dress over his head, no hesitation. 

“How you suffer for your art,” he replied, taking his briefs off too, uncaring. “Besides, didn’t you say one groupie was enough?”

Some poor intern rushed over with underwear for Yuri, who just took them with a shrug. 

“More than enough,” Otabek answered with a wink, just for him. Yuri took his coffee back, and took a kiss too before he turned and walked away as well, leaving Otabek standing there in front of a pile of his clothes. 

Yuri didn’t look over his shoulder, but someone must have been looking at him, because he heard Otabek verbally prickle up like a hedgehog. 

“Hey, that’s  _ my husband _ you’re gawking at, maybe you should get back to work.”

Yuri bit back a laugh and sipped his drink. 

  
  
  
  
  


The concept for the video was. . . _hot_. To say the very least. 

Yuri sat in the middle of the floor with black tubing in a perfect circle around him by a distance of about ten feet or so. Whenever Lilia said so, the black tubing would slowly catch fire until he was sitting in a circle of flames. 

No one told him the wings would be so heavy. He felt empathy for those models who had to walk down runways with them on. He could barely sit still without feeling like he would accidentally catch his wings on fire like some kind of punk rock icarus. 

The concept for the their part of the video was that both of them existed in separate rings of fire. Yuri had already watched Otabek, slightly slick with oil, sitting in the middle of the fire, curled up and holding his knees. He had looked up with wild eyes framed in dark kohl and seemed to be lost as the flames began to light around him. One wrong step could mean being engulfed. 

It was the same for Yuri, whose wings would actually catch fire and burn away in post. Towards the end of the song, they would meet in the middle, in the fire together. 

It was interesting, how the visual history of them was represented. It was easier to sell the story that it was Yuri who’d been so corrupted by Otabek, like he’d never touched anything before his hands roamed inked skin. What a joke. 

They were supposed to look at each other like they were about to kiss, the video ending an agonizing second too soon, just before their lips met. It was the shot that took the longest to get because Lilia insisted it needed to be  _ perfect. _

Around the tenth take, Otabek held him close, eyes half-closed and counting each pale eyelash. Then he pulled a funny face and tried to touch the tip of his tongue to his nose, and Yuri burst into laughter, loud and ugly. He buried his face in his husband’s shoulder as Lilia called cut with sharp disappointment. 

They liked to kiss when the cameras couldn’t catch them. 

  
  
  
  
  


Whoever said sex died after marriage clearly hadn’t been having very good sex before. 

Or maybe it was just a special affinity when it came to dressing room mirrors, a little bit of nostalgic affection in the reflection. Red lipstick smeared across the glass surface and spelled out their initials. Yuri’s black-painted fingertips were sharpened to a point and, accompanied by a soft gasp, trailed down the surface and streaked the letters down in blood red slashes. 

“Look at us,” he murmured, lifting his own eyes to watch their mirror images moving. 

“I am,” Otabek sent back, his eyes cast down to where their bodies met. He leaned in after a moment, braced himself against Yuri’s back and lay his palms flat down on the makeup station’s flat surface next to where Yuri’s also rested. It was so simple to shift their hands, fingers slipped into the spaces of each other’s. Yuri briefly looked down just to catch a glimpse of their wedding ink —  two lucky sevens perfectly matched and permanent. 

Otabek slowed his hips to a torturously slow pace, staying deep in the kind of way that made Yuri’s legs shake when they were still standing like that, because he knew what he could do. Finally, he met Yuri’s eyes in the mirror, watched the soft sway of his mid-length blonde hair from where it was thrown over his shoulder to one side. 

“Why does it still feel this good?” he groaned as Yuri pushed back against him. 

“Because it’s mine,” he threw back, cocky. It earned him the sting of a handprint on his left back side, just over the curve of his hip. He bit his grin to reign it in, reached back to get a grip of Otabek’s hair. 

“Because it’s yours,” he dropped in a low whisper, lips just a teasing touch, “It’s  _ us _ .”

Otabek consumed him in a kiss, pressing a moan onto the tip of Yuri’s pink tongue. 

Minutes later, he ended up with his cheek pressed to the surface of the table, knocking makeup to the floor in the frantic rush to hold onto something. Otabek couldn’t pin his stray hands down, he was busy touching him. It was strange, how Yuri’s thoughts when he was close had changed. Maybe that was the real marriage difference. He used to love the mess they made, the destruction. By the clatter of eyeliner pencils hitting the floor in an assortment of shades of black, there was still a reckless flare to them. But it wasn’t the only thing, the way it used to be. 

Yuri got off on thinking about how they looked onstage together. Electric, enigmatic outlines of who they really were, feeding off of each other’s power. Because of who they were and how much people seemed to care about that, they had to put a part of their history for sale. The crowds didn’t get to see the way moments bled into the future lyrics they wrote, no one did other than the two involved. By the time the fans knew a solid piece of the puzzle, the single was out and they were already seven steps ahead. 

He came with a muffled cry, and Otabek bit down lightly on the two fingers that had ended up in his mouth as he followed. 

With bambi legs and an afterglow that couldn’t be bottled, Yuri did his best to help pick up everything they’d made fall and tried not to laugh too much. He sat on the table and watched as Otabek buckled his jeans back up before helping him push his knee socks back in place from where they’d pushed down his calves. He wordlessly passed the leather jacket to Yuri when he shivered. If they ever did break up, in some alternate universe, they’d have to split weekends and holidays with the jacket. 

When they left the room they got a few suspicious stares from some of the video techs, but Yuri just smirked and threw his arm around Otabek’s shoulder. 

Sometimes, all of the wild rumors about them were true. 

  
  
  
  
  


Before they were all lost to the realm of recording, Erzhan called a family dinner at the new Malibu house he shared with Holly. They had become a bi-coastal couple over the past year or so, traveling back and forth between the coasts and around the world together as often as they were apart. The house in Malibu was more or less home base, though.  The house had many purposes. There was an office that handled some of the Altin Records business, which was Erzhan’s baby and Otabek’s reluctant godchild. If anything, it was nice to know that if they had to sell their music and their souls to 'the man', at least it was all in the family. Erzhan had their gold record framed as the centerpiece of a gallery wall of photoshoot prints and magazine covers. Yuri was pretty sure that his brother in law had hired a personal assistant whose sole job was to carefully clip and archive every piece of paper their names had been printed on. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Otabek had insisted, but sometimes Yuri would catch him in the doorway, eyes glinting with gold. His pride had smoothed out, become more subtle, but it was still there. Nothing compared to when Erzhan would trail off in the middle of a boring meeting and just look at Otabek whenever he offered up a suggestion or fought for something he wanted to do. He would just take a moment, as if in sudden realization that all of it was real, and then compose himself and get back to work. Yuri liked to watch them work, appreciated the small wonder of it. 

There were also numerous guest rooms in the house because Holly lived for hosting. Everyday Yuri understood more and more why she ended up with the eldest Altin brother, they were both recklessly ambitious. Holly was back in school, taking a full course load online while still acting as their tour manager and dabbling in publishing her poetry. She still found time to travel and throw parties and family events, and they had to go to everything. Yuri wasn’t allowed to miss a visit to Holly’s unless he was working or dying. 

It was a Sunday at home, which meant Otabek had to carry him out to the van half-asleep for the drive to Malibu. If the sun’s eyes were still closed, so were Yuri’s. He secretly loved those drives, taking Serik’s old van out of retirement and sleeping on the worn old mattress until he woke up to the sound of Otabek singing along to their songs on the radio. He’d climbed up into the front seat then, sun warm and rested. 

Hours later, they parked the van in the driveway where it fit comfortably out of place with shining clean surface of Erzhan’s aston martin. They were getting their duffles from the back when a familiar voice rang out from the doorway. 

“ _ брат! дядя! _ ” Isha called out to them, her long dark hair tied back in a braid. It swished back and forth as she ran to them, her sandals clacking against the cement. 

Yuri caught her in his arms, huffing and groaning like it was a huge effort to pick her up and swing her around. She laughed, already asking if she could practice braiding his hair. Hers was intricately woven and tied off with bows, Holly’s signature work.  Yuri handed her over to her brother, who smothered her cheeks in kisses until she was wiggling out of his arms. On the ground, she took both of their hands and pulled them towards the front door. 

It was nerve-wracking, the first time Yuri had met the other side of his new family. He was convinced that Otabek’s parents were only visiting to prove once and for all that Yuri was the devil and everyone would leave him. It was almost as if that was his first reaction to any conflict in his life. 

So naturally, he nearly went into shock when he met Otabek’s mother and she hugged him, her voice thick with unshed tears as she welcomed him into the family. Then she saw Otabek with clear eyes for the first time, and she really did cry. 

That was over a year ago, just before Otabek slipped. They both thought that it would mean the end of the hesitant visits, Otabek’s parents’ proof that they had been right in limiting his contact with his little sister. Only that wasn’t how it went, because Otabek’s father dropped everything to be at his son’s side. It didn’t make up for all the times he hadn’t been there because Otabek had kept them away, but it was a start. 

So it warmed Yuri’s heart when they barely got through the front door without a flurry of attention. They’d become acquainted to dealing with paparazzi by then, and Otabek’s parents were not so different. There were no flashing lights or cameras, but there were a million questions and a crowding in of bodies. Only, it wasn’t so invasive. Yuri felt Otabek’s mother’s arms around him in a warm embrace before he could even set down his bag, which Otabek’s father quickly took to carry to their room. 

“Yurochka, have you been eating properly?” she asked him with immediate concern, throwing an accusatory glare at her son, her smile unfaltering. “Has this one learned to cook anything but cup noodles yet?” 

“Just a little album stress, I’m fine Mrs. Altin,” he said softly, his arms lingering in her hold. She radiated warmth and strength, an innate femininity that came with the kind of motherhood Yuri had never had a chance to know in his own mother. A part of him never wanted to let go of her, to just stay in her arms and breathe in the comforting smell of her rose perfume. 

“Otabek takes great care of me,” he added, and a familiar hand slipped to the small of his back. He didn’t need to see the corner of Otabek’s mouth to know there was a smirk hidden there. He was very good at ordering takeout, and driving to Holly’s whenever they wanted real food. 

“People drink too much coffee in this country. You should both drink tea in the evenings,” Otabek’s father suggested as he walked back into the room, Holly’s dog Clove in his arms. He was a nurse, and most of his health suggestions included a diagnosis of tea deprivation. Holly would be an RN in a few years, and she more or less agreed. 

They made their way from the foyer into the kitchen, bright and bustling with the rest of the family. Erzhan was at the stove, Drew at the counter next to him, chopping up onions with quick precision and no tears, because she had superpowers or something. Serik and Holly sat at the island on barstools. Holly was rolling up cookie dough that had probably been abandoned by Isha the moment she heard the van, and Serik sat beside her with a protein shake and a book in front of him. 

“Look at these guns,” Yuri joked as he walked over to Serik, pinching his biceps as they were on display from his sleeveless tank, “all those years of drumming and you’re just now bulking up. Trying to impress someone?” 

Drew looked over her shoulder at them with a coy smile and Serik didn’t even look up from his book. He subtly scratched the tip of his nose with his middle finger, and Yuri laughed and ruffled his hair. He wrapped his arms around Holly, who leaned back into him affectionately, offering him a tiny bit of the raw dough. 

Otabek had gone over to his older brother, asking if he could be of any use in finishing up the cooking.    


“Wash your hands first, heathen,” Erzhan quipped, but kissed his brother’s forehead all the same. 

Yuri was on parental fill-in duty while Otabek played sous-chef and simultaneously avoided any questions as well as secondhand embarrassment from whenever Yuri sang his praises. Only Yuri didn’t think he was exaggerating. 

Dinner was ready within the hour, and they filled the dining room table with platters and dishes. They chatted amongst themselves as they passed around servings. Holly had lit tea light candles in the middle of the circular table and they cast a gentle, cozy glow over the evening. It was so much easier than the first time, when things had still been incredibly tense despite the initial positive reactions. By then, Yuri had grown so used to it that family dinners at Holly’s felt like a par for the course. 

Still, when Otabek took his hand under the table halfway through dinner, it made him pause. He saw Otabek under stage lights and moonlight every night, but seeing him in the candle light was an exclusive experience associated with nights like those. It was just a moment, aglow by the softest firelight they had ever known, but it was etched into Yuri’s memory. Sometimes when he closed his eyes and sang about him, that was the image of Otabek that had replaced others not worth remembering. 

They had a tradition for the time between the clearing of plates and the serving of dessert and tea, set in place by Serik. They went around the table and each of them said something they were lucky to have. Most of the time it served as a life update — a chance for Serik to talk about his recent engagement with Drew, for Erzhan to discuss his latest business venture. Even Otabek talked about things they had accomplished, his pride soft but glowing. 

In the dozens and dozens of times they’d been over for family dinners over the past two years, whether his in-laws were visiting at the time or not, Yuri’s answer was always the same. 

“Family.” 

  
  
  
  


It was no secret that Isha was spoiled at her brother’s house. She had her own room furnished like it was straight from one of the fairy tales she still loved to read, and more toys than she would ever be interested in. It was also no surprise that she hardly ever slept in the room at night, especially not on the special occasions when her brother was off the road. 

Yuri had just settled in next to Otabek in their own guest room, changed into silk pajamas and his hair braided, albeit not so securely, but as promised. Otabek wrapped his arms around him, spooned against his back.  He was just closing his eyes when he sensed the ray of light from the hall peeking into their room. Isha crossed the carpet without a sound until she reached Yuri’s side of the bed. 

“Can I sleep here?” She asked, and Yuri was nodding before she even finished. She hopped up onto the bed and slipped under the covers, resting her head on Yuri’s shoulder. Her tiny hand wrapped around the ends sticking out of his braid. 

“Do you want me to sing to you,  _ қарындас _ ?” Otabek proposed before his little sister could request it. Of course she nodded and hummed until Otabek’s solid, gentle voice floated above them. The song he’d written with Serik had become a lullaby for their sister. She was still too young to know what it really meant, but one day they would tell her. Soon, she would wander onto social media and have questions and maybe some disenchantment, and they would rather give her the whole truth whenever she was ready. It was a small comfort to know they had her now, after the worst of it.

Yuri fell asleep with Otabek’s voice in his ear and Isha’s hand curled around his long blonde hair, an Altin on each side of him. Then again, he was one too, even if it was hyphenated.  

  
  
  
  


Occasionally, Holly and Yuri ran away together.

As much as Yuri loved spending time with Isha and his in-laws, he respected that Otabek wanted to spend time with them on their own, dedicating his energy to healing years upon years of issues he only really talked about Viktor. Yuri got a condensed version of their talks, and Viktor no longer came to check up on them. He was busy in Malibu with his own husband, and they had more than dog feet running around. Yuri would say he missed him, but that would be a lie.

Either way, Otabek explained to him in the morning that they were taking Isha ice-skating in the mall and going to some kind of doll cafe, which sounded horrifying. Yuri mumbled his agreement and promptly when back to sleep, content to sleep in all morning and then scavenge the empty house for leftovers whenever he woke up. 

About an hour after the other side of the bed was cold, his plans for sleep were ruined. 

It was the boobs that gave her away. 

“Get off me, Holly,” he groaned, wiggling around under the covers in an attempt to push her off of his back, where she lay like a dead weight. She hugged him tighter. 

“I’m brain-dead and I can’t even look at a textbook right now, come with me to the beach.” 

Yuri groaned, burying himself deeper into the pillow. “It’s too hot.” 

Holly got off of him, and Yuri thought that was the end of it. Then she started pulling him by his ankles, and he had to scramble up before she pulled him clean off the bed. 

“Serik and Drew are in Disneyland,” she explained as they changed into swimsuits. “And Erz is working on some things before he flies back home next week, so you’re stuck with me, pumpkin.” 

It was funny, how many different places could be home. She meant New York, their apartment Manhattan. But the Malibu house was just as much, if not more so, home. Yuri had learned that home could really be anywhere, together with other people or alone. A home was a hidden chamber of the human heart. 

For a mid-morning, the beach wasn’t so crowded. They splashed around in the water half-heartedly for a few minutes before resigning to lay out their towels and bake. Holly insisted on rubbing Yuri down with sunblock before, though. People passing by probably thought they were a straight couple, going by how comfortable they were with each other. Yuri scrunched his nose at the thought. 

As they lay there, frying, Yuri listened to the waves and wondered if he could drift back to sleep unnoticed. The waves of Malibu still comforted him, even years after he first heard them under quite different circumstances. 

Unfortunately, Holly had talking on her mind. 

“I wanted to ask,” she started cautiously as she played with the bow on her stripes bikini top, “do you want me to move back in with you guys, just for recording the new album?” 

“Ugh, why would I want that? So you can walk in on boring, married sex?” 

Yuri was lying through his teeth, but Holly still shuddered. For reasons of her own, mostly being stubbornly free-willed, she detested the concept of marriage. Even monogamy was a struggle for her lately, and Yuri didn’t even want to ask if they had gone through on the idea of a throuple, because what a gag. He knew too much about their sex life already.

“No, it’s just. . . If you worry about him. I could help, make sure he doesn’t slip again.” 

Yuri let his head rest on his folded arms, his back to the sun. He looked at her, a little bit sad that they both knew the truth. 

“That’s not up to you or me, so it doesn’t really matter if you’re there or not. Didn’t you learn that the first go around?” 

It stung them both a little bit, but Holly quickly recovered. 

“So he still worries you?” 

Yuri nodded, looking away from her, “Of course. I mean, I’m too young to be a rock widow.” 

He faked a laugh, but Holly didn’t buy it. She just stared at him until he caved into authenticity. 

“I just wish I could take some of it away from him, you know?” 

She smiled at him sadly, “He’s told me the same thing about you.” 

Yuri sighed, turning over onto his back.  The truth was that it didn’t matter how worried he was. He could lose Otabek at any moment, by no fault of his own. He could lose anyone, as he had learned, and it was just something he had to accept. But he didn’t want it to affect his decisions, and he didn’t want it to be on his mind every time Otabek had a bad day. Just because their broken glass shards fit together, it didn’t repair the cracks that would remain like scars. They were healing, but nothing could erase the past. Yuri couldn’t undo the nightmares of Otabek overdosing in front of him, couldn’t erase all the tears and the fear.

He also couldn’t erase the glow of his brown eyes in the candlelight, or the number seven inked onto his most exclusive finger. That didn’t wash off. 

You couldn’t really change anyone, you just had to love them anyway. That was the great and awful thing about it all. 

Holly reached out and took his hand. He startled, but smiled softly back at her, their fingers intertwined in the warm sand. 

“Recovery isn’t linear, pumpkin. But he’s good right now, so just enjoy it. Remember how far you’ve both come, everything you have done to be here on a beach in  _ fucking _ Malibu, again. Crazy, right?”

She couldn’t contain her smile, and Yuri didn’t deny his either. 

They lay out for a long, lazy moment before Holly pulled her long, dark hair into a messy bun. Gold lettering sparkled off the side of her sunglasses, and Yuri scoffed.

“Speaking of crazy, how did you end up with Prada sunglasses?” 

She smirked at him, stretching out her long legs and leaning back on her palms. 

“One guess,” she bit her lip, “another of Erz’s presents, he had to go to Milan last month.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes, “You’re such a label baby now. What happened to the Holly who stole her knock-off combat boots from walmart?” 

“I still have those!” She defended with a snort of laughter, “and hey, after growing up on hand-me-downs and salvation army, it feels really good to be spoiled. It’s not like he’s emptying his wallet on me, trust me. Besides, I have ways of spoiling him too.” 

She arched an eyebrow at her friend, her voice coy, “he likes to be spoiled just as much. . . begs for it, really. . . on his knees.” 

Holly was drawing her finger back and forth in the sand dreamily. Yuri made a sour face, tossing sand across her legs so she snapped out of it. 

“Ugh, can you maybe not get horny in front of me on public property?” 

She laughed and pushed him playfully, “oh c’mon, like you don’t get it just as good with Beks.” 

Yuri bit his lip, his mind instantly going back to the week before when they were shooting their music video. Otabek’s chest slick with body oil and the lipstick initials in the mirror, the danger of someone with the right key being able to unlock the door at any minute. 

“Yeah,” he threw his hair over one shoulder, the braid it had been in and the ocean salt contributing to its soft waves, “and it’s not for public knowledge.” 

Holly cracked up, laughing so hard she almost lost her designer shades. 

“Yeah right, it’s all in the album and the stage performance. You two are anything but subtle.” 

Yuri protested by throwing a clump of  wet sand at her, and that was his grave mistake. Holly carefully took her sunglasses off and placed them in her bag. Then it was just like they were fifteen again, when Holly dyed her hair blue with kool-aid and taught Yuri how to make boys pay attention. She tackled him, sending sand flying. They laughed as they played around, at each other and at the bizarre wonder of their lives.

They laughed at how lucky they were, because they had made it out and they’d made it out together. 

  
  
  
  


At the end of the weekend, they said their goodbyes and brought Serik and Drew along as their passengers back to the bay. 

The two brothers were in the front seat, and Serik commented something about nostalgia before they even left the driveway. Yuri was with Drew in the back, and it was a good thing. Since being inducted into the Altin clan, Drew and Yuri hadn’t really gotten to know each other too well. She was quiet, even when she went on the road with them she only ever relaxed when they got back to the hotel or were on the bus for the night. She always had headphones on, and Yuri had never seen her with the same book twice. 

“Let me see the rock,” he teased lightly, and Drew held out her left hand. “I never got to see it up close.”

Serik had spent months searching for the perfect ring. Otabek had gone with him the first few times to help, but after three unsuccessful trips he gave up. However long it took, Serik had picked the perfect one. It sat daintily on her finger, round and glimmering beautifully in the sunlight. 

“Have you started planning yet?” He cautioned, preparing for what was probably going to be an unloading of details. He expected it to be the most he ever heard the girl say in the two years they’d known each other. Instead she shrugged, resting her palm on her bare knee. 

“I kind of wanted to do what you guys did,” she said, referring to Yuri and Otabek, “but  _ someone _ wasn’t having it.” 

Sensing his fiancé’s meaning, Serik turned around in the passenger seat to face them. 

“ _ Someone _ didn’t want his aging parents to have a heart attack, you feel? Erzhan and Holly are going to live in sin for the rest of their lives, and you hooligans eloped without even telling me until an hour before signing the papers. Our parents didn’t get a chance to throw the big wedding, but now they get to. Our whole family will be there.” 

Yuri looked over to Drew, who grimaced slightly. 

“I just hate being the center of attention,” she explained, picking at the button on the old mattress. She bit back a smile, “but it will be really cool to have such a big celebration.” 

“I even heard this little rock band may play the reception,” Serik added, a little smirk on his face. 

Yuri shook his head fondly, looking at the pair of them, only twenty. Serik looked so much older to him, going from a gangly teenager to a toned, strong, and confident young man. He still prayed every morning, although Yuri wasn’t sure what else he could possibly ask for. Drew matched him perfectly, because they were both that quiet kind of smart, humble about who they were. It was crazy, to see each of them off in pairs. Everyone was so different, but they were all happy.

They were more than just a band and a team. They were family in every sense of the word.

 

 

When they opened the front door, and the house was as quiet as they’d left it. That needed to be fixed. Upstairs, they threw their bags down in the corner and Yuri put on their playlist. Then they threw their bodies onto the bed, sighing in relief. It was funny how they always missed their bed even when they’d only been away for a weekend. When it was months away, they almost forgot about it. 

The green glowing plastic stars on the ceiling were just starting to glow faintly, and Otabek ran his hand lazily up and down Yuri’s back, twirling his hair around his fingers. 

“Do you have the energy to do anything more than just lay here?” 

Yuri shook his head, cuddled into Otabek’s side. 

“Me either,” he murmured. “Guess it’s finally setting in.” 

They were quiet for a long, peaceful moment. It was total serenity, in their room. It was where they had first learned all the lines of each other, where Otabek had started to write that first song about Yuri after knowing him for less than twenty-four hours. It was where they escaped to with their morning coffee, shared their ideas in the safety of the dark. It was almost a meditative state just to lay there, a memory floating in and out with each breath. 

It lasted all of thirty seconds. 

“Alright, i’ll brew some coffee and you get the amps plugged in, right?” 

“As you wish, tiger.” 

  
  
  
  


Yuri liked that he didn’t have to dress up at home. Of course, his closet was still stuffed to the brim and now that they were home for an extended few months to receive packages, he’d gone off the deep end on online shopping. He used the excuse that he needed new clothes for tour, anyway. He gave Otabek private fashion shows in their bedroom, so no one complained.  Even still he’d been rocking a lot of sweatpants, a lot of oversized t-shirts as the weeks passed. They liked to work late into the night and then present their work like show-and-tell to the rest of the band whenever they came over during the day. The creative energy was stronger because it was so comforting to just be home, to be with Otabek. They filled the house with music and laughter and late night movies and sex. 

There were only small gaps of space where it fell silent, and Yuri wasn’t sure what to do with himself. It mostly happened in the mornings, when Otabek woke up at ungodly times even if they’d stayed up late writing or playing. He and Serik had started running together in the mornings, and he would kiss Yuri good morning before he was off. 

“Angel, i’m going now,” he murmured gently, pressing a kiss to Yuri’s temple on a too-early morning, “you should eat something, don’t go back to sleep, okay?” 

“Mmph,” Yuri groaned, reaching his hands out with his eyes still closed, “whatever.” 

Otabek huffed a laugh, and held his outstretched hands gently. He kissed each knuckle, and then he way gone. Yuri rolled onto his newly vacated side of the bed and wrapped around his pillow, eyes shut tight and breathing in. 

Eventually, he did as he was told and got his lazy ass out of bed. 

He was downstairs in the basement when he heard the door open, and Otabek was back.

“Babe, come here,” he called out into the quiet house, and Yuri took his half-empty coffee cup up the stairs with him for a refresh. 

When he opened the basement door and rounded the corner, he found Otabek in the living room with Serik, and instead of running clothes, he was in jeans and his leather jacket.

“Didn’t you guys go running?” he murmured sleepily as he passed to the kitchen. Otabek followed him. 

“Yeah, but I got you something.”

He recalled his conversation with Holly and groaned. 

“What is it?” he eyed his husband suspiciously. “How expensive was it?” 

“Don’t even think about it, you’ll love it. I saw how much you loved playing with Clove and - “

His suspicion turned to dread. Clove was cute, sure, but he would rather pull teeth than have to listen to a yapping, needy dog all day. It was a genuine worry that required serious threat. 

“Otabek,” Yuri said gravely, “If you brought a dog into this house I swear I will never eat your ass a-”

“You think I don’t know you any better than that?” Otabek laughed, opening his jacket to reveal what was inside. It was easily the best small, white thing he had ever kept in that inner pocket. 

_ Mooow _ , the tiny kitten announced loudly, and Yuri’s whole heart swelled. He set down his mug and instantly crossed the kitchen floor, carefully picking up the creature and holding it with both hands.

“She’s the cutest fucking thing i’ve ever seen,” he cooed as he held her against his chest, thumb rubbing over the soft of her round belly. “Even cuter than you falling asleep.” 

Otabek smiled, kissing the top of his head as he took off his jacket and his shirt to change. 

“I figured you could use a friend in the mornings,” he explained from the attached laundry room, throwing his dirty clothes into the wash. “She may be a little trouble now since she’s brand new and still needs a bottle, but she’ll be old enough for us to take on tour. Sorry I didn’t ask you first, I wanted to surprise you. She’s only ten days old, the mom’s owners wanted to get rid of them and just dumped them at a shelter.”

“She won’t be any trouble at all,” Yuri murmured, not even looking at Otabek standing naked as he changed into fresh track pants. “What’s her name?” 

Otabek emerged from the room, taking his phone off the counter. “You wouldn’t believe me,” he grinned, pulling up a picture and turning the screen towards Yuri. He’d taken a picture of the cage where the litter was kept, name tags on the sides featuring pictures of each kitten. There was her name.  _ Angel _ . 

“She was the runt of the litter and they didn’t think she would make it, so. . .” 

Otabek trailed off, but Yuri filled the space and stepped forward to kiss him. 

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “Thank you.” 

“I love you,” Otabek whispered back. 

They kissed again, and Angel protested. They didn’t stop when Serik walked into the kitchen. 

“Did you know you’ll have to help her eliminate waste? She can’t poop on her own yet.” 

They stopped.   
  
  


 

That night after Serik had left to pick Drew up from work, Yuri and Otabek went to the store to get more than they needed. The shelter had provided them with anything they could need for the first few days, but that wasn’t good enough. Yuri needed to be prepared. 

They were stopped by a fan on the way out and Yuri didn’t even mind. She was lucky enough to get a picture of him actually smiling, and he even let her stroke angel’s head. She didn’t really say much after getting the picture. Fan experiences usually went that way, they just wanted to say they had met them. Yuri still thought it was a little weird that any would want to know them. Then there were really special ones that made all of the awkward, informal interactions worth it. There had been a girl who had written to Otabek to tell him his public relationship with his sobriety had helped her decide it was best for her to be sober, too. There was someone in Maine who had their lyrics tattooed on their body, because they meant that much to them. There were still kids who came up to Yuri after every show to thank him for being so confident, and they told him how seeing him doing whatever he wanted to had helped them in their own expressions. They met some amazing people, but that wasn’t all the time. A lot of the time is was just a minute.

But there were over half a million minutes that made up just one year, so each of them counted for something. 

 

Something Yuri hadn’t counted on was how much care and attention went into raising a newborn kitten. Yuri had to be up every four hours to feed her, and it led to some interesting changes in their usual routine. Once, Otabek had been cuddling him in the warm afterglow and Yuri had heard the alarm on his phone go off. He carefully slipped away from the bed, sending promises that he would be back. 

“Where are you going?” Otabek asked, a bit confused in his post-coital state. He was still lazily spread out on the bed like a starfish, his limbs useless to him. 

“I have to feed the baby,” Yuri quickly explained, turning on the light in their bathroom that had turned into Angel’s temporary home. He knelt naked by the bathtub, gently picking her up and coaxing her awake to feed her. 

Otabek groaned in response from the bed and covered his face with his forearm. 

“Fuck, I’m so glad I came  _ before _ you said that.” 

Yuri laughed softly and listened from the floor as Otabek cleaned their bed, the towel flying into the hamper across the room. Once he’d taken care of Angel, he went back to the bed and yawned as Otabek wrapped him in his arms. He sighed in contentment as his head was kissed, his skin adored by knowing fingertips. 

“So, the idea of having a baby doesn’t excite you?” He broached carefully, more curious than anything. It hadn’t been something Yuri thought about regularly, but it seemed like everyone around them had made up their mind either way and Yuri just wanted to know where they stood. As of the last few years, having a family to belong to was something Yuri clinged to. The idea of having someone that reflected him or Otabek, maybe even have the same brown eyes he loved so much, was an appealing thought. 

Otabek sighed, not totally frustrated but sounding tired already. Though, that might have had to do with their previous activities. 

“It doesn’t excite me, no, but it’s not like I’ve never thought about it.” 

Yuri was on his side and leaned on one elbow, interested as he listened. 

“I just think that we’ve come a long way, but there’s no way in hell we are ready to be responsible for a kid. Do you remember two years ago, when you said we were just getting started? We still have so much left to do.” 

Yuri nodded gently, tracing the line of his shoulder. 

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re scared?” 

Otabek’s breath hitched, as if he was still surprised. After all this time, Yuri could see him so clearly. They existed together on one side of a mirror, and they could see each other clearly. It was the other side, the dark of the unknown, that was terrifying. 

“I didn’t even think I would still be around to even  _ think _ about kids, much less being married. Fuck, it still blows my mind. I shouldn’t have gotten to keep you, it doesn’t even make sense.” 

Yuri smirked, burying his face in Otabek’s neck. 

“Of course I’m scared, angel. Everyday I wake up wondering when the next time I mess up is going to be. I worry enough about disappointing myself, and you, and everyone else. I couldn’t bring a kid into that.” 

Yuri lifted his head to look at Otabek with a hard stare. “I could never be disappointed in you. Even if. . . Even if the worst happened. I would be more disappointed if you had never tried at all, or if you stopped trying despite how far you’ve come. I know how hard you work every day, I can feel it,” 

He ran his hands down Otabek’s shoulders, down his back, guiding the waves of tension away with his hands. He placed his palm over his chest, tracing the tiger’s head. 

“I love you, and I will never be disappointed in us.” 

Otabek smiled weakly, pulling him down to peck his lips.

“Still, love doesn’t mean we would make good parents. The vast majority of people who happen to fall in love shouldn’t be parents. We’re still kind of a mess, aren’t we?” 

Yuri laughed, biting his thumb playfully when it ran affectionately over his lip. 

“I love our mess,” he murmured, leaning up for another kiss.“Besides, we’d be shitty parents now. I had to set an alarm to remember to stop fucking and feed the cat.” 

Otabek rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. They settled in for the night, a comfortable sleeping position that would be broken the moment they actually fell asleep. Yuri would steal the covers and Otabek’s leg would trap him in tight so that he woke up hot and wrapped in a burrito of blankets. 

“I love our mess, too.” Otabek admitted, kissing the back of his head. 

  
  
  
  


The weeks they spent recording their second album were so calm and simple that Yuri almost forgot about the sophomore album legacy. Everyone knew that a band either had a sophomore slump, or the second record was the best of their entire career. No pressure. 

As usual, Serik’s carefree vibe went out like an aura, and Yuri let it embrace him in a deceptive sense of calm. 

They walked down to the basement one evening, stuffed after going to dinner at a new Thai place. Yuri still had a tea in one hand, and he carried Angel downstairs with the other. He set her down gently on the floor, watching as she pushed and scooted around. She was just learning to walk, but soon she would be running and hiding. 

As Serik was setting up his kit, he looked at Yuri and shook his head in amusement. “It’s like that cat is your patronus or something,” he commented, and Yuri’s eyes widened in confusion. 

“My what?”

“Nevermind,” Serik laughed, “not your area.” 

The session went on as normal from there, with minimal amounts of actual recording and maximum amounts of goofing around, a contrast to the perfectionism Otabek inhibited when it came to mixing and editing, picking away at the finer points of the record. 

At one point, Otabek went upstairs to refill on water, and Yuri caught Serik smiling. 

“What, get a text from your  _ fiancé _ ?” he asked, exaggerating the accent on the word. 

“Nope,” Serik replied, leaning back in a comfortable office chair that lived down there, “I just catch myself smiling sometimes.” 

Yuri looked at him skeptically. 

“I guess I’m just grateful, you know? I don’t take it for granted.” 

He looked around at the converted basement studio and he knew they were lucky. The right cards had been lined up to make things a hell of a lot easier for them. Erzhan’s money helped, and Otabek getting his shit together helped. Yuri was just kind of around, watching it all fall into place before him. 

“Yeah,” he said as he unlaced his boots, “I guess we do have it pretty easy compared to most bands who’ve been together this long.” 

“I meant my brother,” Serik clarified, and Yuri felt the weight of being underground. “I don’t take it for granted that he’s still here, that he’s. . . better.” 

The word  _ cured _ was caught on the tip of his tongue, and they both knew it. They both knew it would be wrong to say it, and never would really be quite right. Yuri pulled his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. Before he could reply, or get the memories out of his mind, Otabek came back downstairs. He was still moving, still surviving. Yuri had to remember that his heart still beat even when he couldn’t see him. 

He must have heard from the doorway because he went over to Serik with a juice box and said nonchalantly, “We get it bub, you’re glad I didn’t die in a crack house. Though we’d probably be double platinum by now if that was the case.” 

“Shut up, don’t even joke about it,” Serik grumbled, but punched his shoulder good-naturedly and took the juice box. Yuri was quiet. 

Otabek must have been able to sense it because he reached a hand out and pulled Yuri out of it. 

“C’mon tiger, are you going to sing this song with me or not?” 

  
  
  


When they were alone together in the darkness later that night, in the first hours of morning, Otabek placed his hand gently on Yuri’s side, thumb brushing over inked roses. That was all it took. The tears came fast, overwhelming him until his body wracked with sobs against Otabek’s, and he only calmed when he realized they were both crying. Otabek was crying because he’d made Yuri cry. He almost laughed at that, but he was still distraught. 

“Fuck you,” Yuri sniffed, pressing the sleeves of his sweater into his eyes, “you shouldn’t joke about it.”

“Yura, I wasn’t,” Otabek sighed, exasperated. “I just, I wasn’t even thinking. I didn’t mean it.” 

Yuri pushed his tears away angrily, and wiped Otabek’s gently. He smiled weakly with his wet eyes, kissed his forehead. 

“I’m not even mad at you, I’m mad at me.” 

Otabek pulled him closer, held a hand over his heart until it slowed to a familiar pace. He listened, his eyes pleading in the moonlight. 

“I wish I was strong enough to let it go,” Yuri admitted, “I wish I was strong enough to be on my own, and not need you. But I do. I can physically live without you, but the idea of us ever being separated again hurts me so much, and then I feel like an asshole because you have to put your recovery first and-“ 

Yuri’s words were strung tightly together, his heart beating faster again. Otabek hushed him gently, pulled his close and held him as he cried. 

“I’m so sorry, Yuri. I’m sorry I don’t know how to make it go away.” 

“Just stay with me,” he whispered, broken and tired, “just hold me.”

For just that night, it was enough. 

  
  
  


Yuri had learned from the best that throwing himself into work was the easiest form of distraction. In the morning, he kissed and made up with Otabek, then promptly locked himself in the basement to work alone. 

If anyone found the b-sides of their album, they would wonder if Yuri and Otabek were going through it, or maybe even breaking up. The anger and fear and resentment were only safe inside the tracks. Yuri couldn’t bear to say them in words, but he could sing them. Otabek would hear it, but Yuri didn’t care. He needed the release. 

When it was over, he only had one feeling left. 

He calmly picked himself up from the floor, cleaned up the scattered pages of lyrics on the floor. It was hazy like he was coming down from something, but he made it upstairs with solid steps. He found Otabek feeding Angel, and waited in the doorway until he safely put her down. Yuri went over to his lap, straddling him. 

“You are the worst and the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said honestly, holding Otabek’s face in his hands. “And I don’t want to waste one more second of our lives together worrying about what will happen when it’s over. I don’t want to be afraid, I want to be fearless again. I’m ready if you are.” 

Otabek’s tears fell down silently, but his smile was bright. 

“You already are fearless, Yuri. Fearless doesn’t mean you are never afraid. It’s being able to admit that you’re scared shitless and doing it anyway.” 

Yuri smiled back adoringly, wiping the tears off Otabek’s cheeks and replacing them with kisses. 

Without a word, they moved together. They linked their ring fingers together, two lucky sevens. 

“Then let’s do it anyway.” 

  
  
  
  


Their second album release was much different from their first. 

“I think they’re stocking it now,” Mila said, pushing Yuri up higher on her shoulders. “Can you see it?” 

Yuri pressed against the glass, but let out a noise of frustration. It was impossible to tell from such a distance. 

They were the only two on their little stakeout. Jarrod was home with his actual baby, and Serik was staying at Drew’s for the weekend. They’d brought Otabek along, but somewhere between the ground and Mila’s shoulders, they’d lost sight of him.

“This is stupid,” Mila huffed as she supported his weight, “we should just go to the big blue box store, I’m sure they’re stocking it there and it's still open.” 

“I would rather die by you dropping me and cracking my head open than buy our album from that-“

Before Yuri could finish his descriptive death and its elaborate cover-up, the back door opened. 

“ _ Êtes-vous des enfants qui se faufilent?” _

Mila really did almost drop him then, startled. Yuri only grinned, patting her shoulder until she crouched and set him down. 

Jean-jacques Leroy stood in the back doorway of Amoeba records, a cocky smirk plastered on his face and his arms crossed over his broad chest. Otabek was standing next to him with a matching expression, dangling a ring of keys from his finger. 

“I found a way in,” he grinned. 

Yuri went over and let Jean hug him tightly, enveloped by the strong cologne until he coughed and tapped his shoulder.

“Alright, that’s enough, that’s enough,” He laughed, going over to Otabek,  “I could have totally broken in and started my criminal career, but this works too.”

He snatched the keys and a kiss, and Otabek led him through the doorway with an arm over his shoulder. 

“How long have you been working here, JJ?” Mila asked as they followed behind, walking through storage.

“About six months,” he answered, “thanks to this one.”  He clapped Otabek on the back. Yuri looked between them briefly, then turned to focus on unlocking the storeroom door. 

It was a weird time when Jean had moved back home after nearly a year at the center in Malibu. Yuri was sympathetic, knowing he had lost his band and his girlfriend in the process, along with everything else that changed. Empathy, however, was hard. He never forgot what he and Otabek had meant to each other, the role they’d played in their mutual downfalls. He didn’t think it was good for them to see each other when Jean had first come back on the scene after getting clean, around the same time Otabek had relapsed. He thought it was a recipe for destruction. 

Then Otabek helped JJ get a job, and JJ punched Otabek in the face. A black eye was pretty sobering. Things had a funny way of working out that way. 

Jean led them through the narrow aisles in the dim lighting of the store until they reached the part-timer that was stocking the new records, a gangly skater kid that looked like a knockoff Serik from three years before. 

“I got it from here, thanks Beemer,” Jean said as they approached. The kid looked up with tired eyes, which widened just slightly when he saw the company with his co-worker. He looked from them, particularly Yuri, back to the record in his hands, and back again. Recognition dawned on his face, and JJ took the record gently from his hands. Yuri winked coyly, and that seemed to spook him. He nodded and turned on his heels, walked away. 

Mila laughed quietly, elbowing his side. Yuri flipped his hair over one shoulder and turned to the crates that held all the records, plastic white dividers between them that held the handwritten names of the bands’ work they held. There they were, right in the A’s,  _ Almaty’s Fire _ . 

_ Ashes to Ashes _ .

Yuri ran his fingers fondly over the gold lettering, the shape of Otabek’s lips. His image was on the back cover, but he liked that the front was just Otabek. Familiar arms wrapped around him, and Otabek hid his smile in Yuri’s shoulder. He reached a hand back, fingers carding into soft, dark hair. The cover was simple, just like their first, but simple could be special. There was a certain look in Otabek’s eyes as he looked straight ahead at the camera, the way that Yuri had done on the first album cover. There was a certain jaded look, and a unique melancholy that came with it. Yuri liked to think that their music sounded that way. 

They signed a few in the stack with gold permanent marker, a lucky surprise to any eager listeners who came to buy the album when the store opened in the morning. They placed them back neatly, the two albums sitting side-by-side in the box. Yuri imagined them living there until someone walked by and decided to pick their story up, give it a listen. 

Jean leaned down to pick up the rest of the new releases that sat in a box on the floor, and when he bent over the neck of his scoop shirt fell low. Yuri could see the dark black ink on his chest, on the left side. Jean and Otabek were similar in so many ways, bound by understanding of what it was to want something more than life itself, over anything or anyone else they loved. They kept what they loved close to their hearts, permanently, as if they were symbols of protection. Otabek had Yuri’s tiger, and Jean simply had her name.  _ Isabella _ . He hadn’t seen her in two years, and she would probably never see it, but it was still there. Yuri knew what it was like to be one person on the losing side of a promise. Then again, promises were just choices, kept or broken with each passing minute. Loyalty never died. 

  
  


It was good to get back on the bus. 

After months of being spoiled with the luxuries of home, they needed to put the dirt back on their shoes. Yuri missed the taste of sweat from the stage lights, the feeling of oil-slick leather pants on his thighs. 

Angel followed him as he walked circles around their bed, packing with a fury. Images flashed in his mind of wearing his new outfits onstage, putting things together just to shed layers as the show went on and the lights grew hotter. Once he had everything and sat on top of his suitcase so that it zipped, he leaned down to pick up the white fluff of a cat. 

“C’mon, мой любимый,” he murmured softly. She meowed, and she still fit in the pocket inside of the jacket. Yuri really needed to get back onstage and scream about all the angst he’d been through, because the cat was really making him soft. 

  
  
  
  


First it was the cat, and then he found himself holding a baby. 

Juniper looked unimpressed by him, her big brown eyes stared up at him and her tiny pink lip puckered out. Yuri tried to smile at her softly, and her face instantly crumpled. She wailed, and he looked at Jarrod for help, as if he were the one with the mammary glands. 

Across the bus, Holly and Ivy looked up. Ivy stood up, crossing the small divide and opening up her arms. Yuri couldn’t hand over the adorable, screaming baby fast enough. 

“Ssh, It’s okay Junebug, I got you,” her mother soothed, and sat back down with Holly, reaching behind with one arm to untie the halter top of her sundress. Once Juniper was feeding, the bus was quiet again. 

“Who would have thought,” Yuri observed, looking at the two women on the sofa across from them. They’d jumped right back into conversation, only with a tiny baby brought into their little bubble, “Your baby’s mom and your ex-girlfriend, the best of friends.” 

“Figures,” he shrugged easily.

The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Jarrod and Holly had spent their relationship trying to build a puzzle together with pieces from their own boxes, and wondered why they could never make a complete picture. He’d met Ivy one night after a show, and it only took until the morning. Six weeks later, he got a call and then everything was different because the possibility of Juniper was in the world. She was the size of her namesake, just a tiny berry, but then grew bigger and bigger until she made her loud, dramatic arrival into the world. Now she was a tiny, wiggling, wondering person. She was easy to please, she loved listening to Jarrod play bass. 

At the time, before she was a reality and just a concept, Jarrod had taken his fair amount of shit from the rest of his bandmates. Serik had taken his guitar out of its case and replaced it with hundreds of gold foil condoms, joking that he clearly needed them, and they all had a good laugh about it. Serik also helped Holly to plan the baby shower, and laid on the floor with Juniper whenever she was doing her tummy time, just to keep her company and have a chat. 

Jarrod was instantly in love with Juniper, there was no question of that. Ivy, however, took more time. Their love grew slowly over time. He didn’t love her that first night, and he didn’t trust her when she called and gave him his billie jean moment. Maybe it really started the night Juniper was born, but it grew stronger and stronger every day. Without even trying, Jarrod had found the missing puzzle pieces, and he didn’t have to force them to fit. 

Ivy brought the baby back over when she was blinking through heavy eyelids. 

“Milk drunk,” she laughed quietly, and Jarrod pulled his t-shirt over his head. He took the sleeping baby into his arms, holding her against his bare chest, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she fell asleep. They both looked so content about it as Jarrod settled in, prepared to sit there for an hour. Something about kangaroos, Yuri hadn’t really listened the first time they’d explained it. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to Ivy as she leaned over him, and he tilted her chin for a kiss. She lingered for a moment, but eventually went back to her friend.

Yuri looked around, the bus crowded with their band family. Mila was painting Sara’s nails, a feat of artistry on a moving vehicle. Serik and Drew were sitting up in one of the bunks, their legs tangled in the middle as they each leaned against a wall on either side, each reading a book. 

Their family had long since grown past the capacity of one beat up old van, and Yuri kind of liked it that way.  

“I’m going to find the social butterfly,” he joked softly and got up from the couch. He walked past the bunks and the bathroom, past the meditation alcove. In the new and improved bus, they had a private bed. He opened the door and found Otabek sprawled out on the bed, his eyes closed and headphones on. Yuri slipped off his heels and closed the door gently. He stripped out of his clothes until only a rose pendant hung around his neck, and crawled onto the bed.

He listened to the faint sound coming from the headphones, his own voice singing back to him. Carefully, he lifted one side of the headphones, whispering the lyrics against Otabek’s ear. 

_ You are my sweetest pain,  _

_ Razor blades and rose petals.  _

Brown eyes opened to look at him, and his lip curved. He paused the track and took off the headphones, setting them aside next to the pillow. Angel slept close by, curled up and quiet. It was cold and clean until the new white sheets, and Otabek turned on his side to look at Yuri. 

“Hi beautiful,” he murmured softly and traced along where a field of white bled into brilliant red roses on skin. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” 

“It’s family hour out there,” he replied back, stretching out his bare legs, “And I missed you.”

“You always miss me when i’m naked.” 

Yuri smirked and moved in closer. Arms went around him, and he pressed his forehead against his husband’s chest. It was cold around them, but somehow being skin to skin made it warmer. 

“Sleep, baby,” he whispered against his hair, kissing the top of his head, “we have to bring it all for the first show.” 

He said that for almost every show, but Yuri let him. It wasn’t like they ever did anything less than their best. Every night on tour was a sweat-fueled catharsis, one way or another. 

He looked up through pale eyelashes, feigning innocence. 

“Can you put me to sleep?” 

Otabek blinked, took a moment for his mind to catch up with his body. It was almost like there was a sense of disbelief that after years, Yuri still wanted him. He wanted the soft kisses and his fingers curled around the pillow’s edge. He wanted his legs wrapped around Otabek’s back. He wanted the hot, gasping breath and the gentle rhythm. He wanted to cross the lines between love and need as they crossed state lines. He wanted to exist under the sheets with him for a few hours.

“Yeah,” Otabek exhaled, looming over him. “I can do that for you.” 

  
  
  


That night, Yuri sang the words that he’d sung to Otabek in private to a crowd of thousands. He was crouched on the edge of the stage, his hand reaching out to touch the front row. He looked into their eyes, every person different with the same shining eyes. 

He wondered what went through their heads when they heard the songs. Did they know how it felt to love someone unconditionally? To sacrifice, to hurt, to need? Did they know what it meant to rebuild something that had been broken? 

Of course they did, otherwise they wouldn’t sing along. 

  
  
  


The American shows they started off with felt like second nature, like being home. They were a strong start to the tour, but they visited cities they’d been to before. It was getting on a plane bound for an actual homeland that made Otabek nervous. 

“I was high on cheap shit the last time I was in Almaty,” he said wistfully during takeoff, then looked down at the baby in his arms, cradled in his arms at an angle as he held a bottle to her lips. “Sorry Junie, I was high on cheap  _ stuff _ .” 

Yuri rolled his eyes in the seat next to him, busy putting tiny knit shoes over ten tiny brown toes. He kissed the soles of each of her feet, and Otabek rubbed her cheek as she suckled at the bottle. Juniper Palmero really was the most spoiled musician on the tour. So far her compositions were minimal lyrics and a lot of slapping surfaces with her bare hands, but they all respected her artistic vision. 

“How times have changed, hmm?” he murmured as he watched Otabek feeding the baby. Yuri understood full well that they were not equipped to be parents of any human any time soon (if ever), but there was no denying that Otabek looked really hot holding a baby. He was a little biased, though. 

As the hours trailed on, his thoughts spoken aloud grew more and more worried and slightly hilarious. 

“Why did we even name the band Almaty’s Fire?” he contemplated somewhere over the ocean, Yuri curled against him and half-asleep. “That’s such a dumb name. Also, what if there’s actually a fire at the show?” 

“I mean, there are pyrotechnics during the encore, so technically-” 

He huffed, and kissed Yuri’s forehead for some reason. Yuri went in and out of sleep, and he woke up once to find Otabek’s leg bouncing with a constant rhythm of nerves. 

“Hey rabbit, take out your batteries,” he murmured, pulling the blanket up to his chin. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, and his leg stilled. 

He didn’t need to ask why Otabek was so anxious, it was one of things that was just clear between them. Ironically, it was also a contrast between them. Otabek spent the first half of his life wanting to be somewhere else, rebelling against his mother. Yuri spent the first half of his life wishing he was still in his home, and missing the mother he never knew. 

“You’re lucky you have a home to go back to,” he whispered, his hand meeting Otabek’s chest, “you didn’t even have to build it by yourself.” 

Yuri was the most honest when he was falling asleep, and he pulled Otabek in with him. 

  
  
  
  


“It’s good to be home,” 

He had said the same thing onstage the night before, and he said it again as they stood side by side at the gate. Yuri looked at the sparse grass, imagining Otabek being small and running around with his brothers. He imagined them climbing the stairs up and up to the seventh floor, where their apartment was. He could picture Otabek, eighteen and on fire, running back down the same stairs to catch the bus to the airport and never looking back. 

Not until he was standing back in the same place, with Yuri holding his hand. He had lost his voice after the show the previous night, and it was still raspy and strained as they stood in front of the apartment building that Otabek’s family no longer lived in. 

“There’s something strange about being back at the beginning.” 

Yuri knew he meant his childhood, the moment his reckless longing sprouted roots. Yuri couldn’t help but think of their own beginning. He thought of when he saw Otabek for the first time, when he was at his lowest and so high he could barely see straight but he could hear him singing clearly. He thought about the night they actually met years after that, when Yuri had just moved into a house that wasn’t his own and he saw the familiar face of a stranger. Going through their memories had a soundtrack, a numbing taste on his tongue, and the smell of a rose garden by the sea. 

“Do you regret leaving?” 

“Only that I was so quick about it,” Otabek told him, each word a quiet strain, “but I was in a hurry. I had to find you, after all.”

Yuri leaned back against him, breathing in the new air. Everything that had happened and everything that would happen next left them with only the moment and the breath they had now. He listened to Otabek’s heartbeat underneath all the music of life around them. 

He looked at the building for a long time, as if they had all the time in the world. They had dates in Germany and they were due on a plane in two hours. They had a packed calendar, and Otabek had been singing in his sleep again, already dreaming up the next album. 

Yuri didn’t notice when Otabek walked away from him, still imagining the pieces of the puzzle Otabek kept in the corners of the box of his mind. They were just the corners, the beginnings, but they connected one over the other until they met Yuri’s pieces in the middle. Every moment and every song made up a picture of them, and more broken pieces would come to fit into the picture in the future, their edges dipped in gold to hold the cracks together. 

The cold Almaty wind blew, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he realized Otabek was gone. He looked around curiously, and then spotted him across the street, buying flowers from a street cart. He was speaking in his first language like he’d never been away as he took the bouquet of red roses in his hand, thanking the seller. Yuri watched him, waiting. 

For once, Otabek looked back. His eyes were not on his childhood home, but on Yuri. He reached his hand out, the other filled with roses. 

Yuri smirked and ran forward to meet him.  
  
  
  


A journalist of a small publication would write an article on the show in Almaty saying it was the best Kazakhstan had ever seen. No one would agree with that, but Yuri would say that it was the best show they had ever had as a band up to that point. He didn’t know that when Serik’s drum solo had everyone in the stadium on their feet or when Otabek smashed a guitar at the end of  _ Hollow’s Eve _ just because he could. He knew it before all of that, when they were backstage. 

All of the rituals had been performed. The clothes, the hair, the makeup. Serik had laid out his rug in a quiet corner to pray, and Otabek sat beside him in his own version of prayer. Holly had curled and teased his hair to perfection, making Yuri read her medical textbook aloud to her as she did. He knew the moment he and Otabek were reunited, cramped together in a lift that would bring them up to center stage. 

“This is going to be the best show we’ve ever done,” he whispered as he looked over in the dim blue light. 

Otabek smiled softly, “Every show with you next to me is the best show, even when no one’s watching.” 

Yuri pulled his free hand over and kissed him next to his knuckle, his red lipstick print circling the inked seven on his ring finger. Everyone would see it when he held his mic, when he played guitar. They loved to leave their mark on each other, whether anyone could see them or not.  

Otabek kissed his temple and they counted silently. They listened to noise that waited for them, a catalyst to the greatest show, at least of the night. 

Then they were lifted up to the lights and the screams and the pulsing energy of the beginning of their opening song. It was a true production, with fog machines and a burst of flames making it seem like they’d risen straight up from down below. In the last second, when all they could hear was the rest of the band behind them, Yuri looked at Otabek. 

Then he looked at the crowd in front of him, and raised the mic to his lips. 

His voice filled the stadium at the same time that Otabek’s guitar did, and Almaty screamed for them. 

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Fanworks of the Almaty's Fire Series: 
> 
> \- [the OG yuri from chapter one](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/post/162175962017/creemsicaal-so-youre-like-the-band-mom)  
> \- [Yuri and Otabek](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/post/163114317272/otapocalypse-punkotayuri-from-the-fic-almatys)  
> \- [Otabek's lyrics ](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/post/163783911782/eclair-quick-scribbles-of-lines-from-a-song)  
> -[Yuri burning the roses ](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/post/172531579677/secretotp-i-really-love-almatys-fire-by)  
> \- [beautiful space bun baby ](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/post/173484665467/i-wanted-to-share-this-beautiful-sketch-of-my-yuri)  
> \- [ preview of 'Angel' cosplay, inspired by Almaty's Fire](https://twitter.com/tsukicos/status/1000598954294239232)  
> \- [ (and more pictures from the 'Angel' cosplay bc i'm obsessed)](https://twitter.com/tsukicos/status/1014818399954747397)  
> \- [ Yuri and Otabek singing 'Broken Glass' in NOLA](https://russian-fairy.tumblr.com/post/176379984736/broken-glass-ive-been-reading-the-almatys-fire)


End file.
